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A
The guards glanced at each other. “Two old bums?” one of them answered.
“Hey, you little son of a bitch,” a handcuffed Reuben roared in mock fury, and jumped forward. Milton instantly drew his pistol and placed it against the side of Reuben’s head, shouting, “Shut the hell up, lard–ass, before I blow your damn head off.”
Reuben immediately froze.
A
“Damn, Earl,” one of the guards said excitedly to his partner. “Terrorists!”
A
The two guards looked at each other, gri
They both gri
She said, “Roger that. We’ll be in touch.”
They put Stone and Reuben in the backseat of the sedan and drove off.
Caleb waited until the guards were out of sight, then raced back to the Nova and followed A
Inside the sedan, Milton took the handcuffs off Stone and Reuben.
“Milton, you were talking some serious trash back there,” Reuben said proudly.
Milton beamed. He took his ball cap off, and his long hair streamed down.
Stone said to A
“In for a dime, in for a dollar,” she said. “Where to now?”
“My place,” Stone answered. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Chapter 38
Roger Seagraves drove his rental car slowly through the quiet streets of the affluent D.C. neighborhood, turning left onto Good Fellow Street. At this hour most of the large homes were dark. As he passed the late Jonathan DeHaven’s house, he seemed not to even glance over. Another thunderstorm had come his way. He was getting a little tired of the weather pattern. But it really was the perfect setup; he couldn’t let it pass. He kept driving slowly, as though he were just on a leisurely tour admiring the old mansions. Next he drove around the block and made his way down the parallel street, carefully noting the lay of the land.
Observing it and coming up with a plan, however, were two very different things. He needed time to think. One observation had caught his eye: the house across the street from Behan’s. A person with a pair of binoculars was in there watching. Watching what? Regardless, he would have to take that into account when preparing his attack. And when eyes were watching, there was only one way to kill and then get away.
After he had finished his reco
He drove to a motel, drawing a key out of his pocket as he exited his car. With ten quick strides he was at the door of a room on the second level overlooking the parking lot. He opened the door but did not turn on the light. He walked quickly to the door co
An hour later, each of them satisfied, he dressed and smoked a cigarette while she showered. He knew that she had taken the same steps he had to avoid being followed, and the NSA had so many employees it simply couldn’t keep track of them all. And she’d never given anyone any reason to show interest in her, which was why he’d recruited her for his operation. And they were both single, so even if the rendezvous were discovered, it would be put down to simple sex between two consenting adults who happened to be federal employees, which, as yet, was not illegal in America.
The water in the shower stopped. He knocked on the bathroom door and opened it. He helped her out of the shower, gave her naked ass a squeeze and dropped another kiss on her.
“I love you,” she said, nuzzling his ear.
“You mean you love the money,” he answered back.
“That too,” she cooed, dropping her hand to his crotch and pressing against him.
“One a night,” he said. “I’m not eighteen anymore.”
She gripped his muscular shoulders. “Could’ve fooled me, baby.”
“Next time,” he said, slapping her butt hard and leaving a red mark.
“Be rough again,” she said, breathing in his ear. “Make me hurt.”
“I don’t know any other way.”
She pushed him against the wall, her damp breasts wetting his shirt, and ripped at his hair as she tried to stick her tongue all the way down his throat. “God, you are so damn sexy,” she moaned.
“That’s what they tell me.”
He tried to pull away but she wouldn’t let go. “The money wire goes out on schedule?” she asked in between jabs of her tongue.
“As soon as I get my cash, you get yours, sweetie.” And she cooed again, and this time let him free after he’d given her butt another hard slap, leaving a mark on the other cheek.
Yes, stupid, it really was all about the money.
While she finished in the bathroom, he walked back into the other room, flicked on a light, grabbed her purse off the nightstand and slid the digital camera out of one of the i
The information on this black gem would balance out the fight, at least for a little while, until NSA figured out that their new surveillance program had been compromised. Then they’d change it, Seagraves would get another call and he, in turn, would make a call. Then a few days later he’d go to another motel, screw the lady again, peel off another veneer and make another eight figures. Repeat business was his staple. They’d continue to do it until NSA started to realize that the mole was somewhere close. Then Seagraves would shut the operation down at NSA, for a while anyway, since bureaucrats tended to have short memories. In the meantime he’d just go after another target. And there were so many.